


Bass Jam

by rei_c



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Ghosts, Recreational Drug Use, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 06:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Sometimes the pack gets together and they drink and smoke and curl up on the floor, talking about ghosts.





	Bass Jam

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure what this is but -- here.

The smoke alarm hangs open on the wall; someone took out the battery when the weed started circulating and now the alarm's spilling its innards out into view. Stiles rubs at his eyes, drags the tears away from the ends of his lashes, sucks them off his fingertip. He's thirsty. 

Lydia, lying next to him, moves enough to wrap her pinky finger around his. She's cold to the touch even though the basement's sweltering. She always is, now, or maybe it's that Stiles is always hot, the pair of them reflecting their gifts -- the shrill ice of grave-scream, the warm flicker of spark-magic -- as much as they reflect each other: order and chaos; death and life; endings and beginnings; balance and passion. 

Sometimes Lydia screams in her sleep and Stiles is the only one who hears. 

A burst of laughter, then. Stiles tilts his head, looks behind him where Scott's sprawled across the pool table, mostly-empty bottle of 'bane-spiked vodka in his left hand as he gestures wildly with his right. Wolfsbane-laced alcohol always turns Scott expansive and loud; pot turns Stiles tired, makes him feel closed-in, contained. They switch personalities, almost, on nights like this. Stiles wishes they could switch ghosts, too.

"What's he talking about?" Lydia asks. 

Stiles tries to read Scott's lips, the curl of his fingers around the bottle, the way he's throwing his head back as he moves his arms wide. "Dunno," Stiles finally says. "Want another puff? I don't think Danny went far." 

Lydia hums, thinks, finally says, "Nah. I'm good. Can't feel my toes. You?" 

Stiles glances over, meets his mother's eyes. "Shouldn't've had what I did," he says. 

"Ignore her," Lydia tells him. "I do -- ignore them, I mean. Life's easier." 

"I bet," Stiles says. He blinks the sting of smoke away.


End file.
